


Things That Go Bump In The Night

by ficsandfuckery



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banshees, Campfires, Changelings, Ghouls, Goddesses, Leviathans, Monsters, Purgatory, Rugaru, Sirens, Vampires, Wendigo, Werewolf, non-heroic!winchesters, scary!winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:32:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandfuckery/pseuds/ficsandfuckery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A handful of Purgatory’s Finest sits around a campfire to regale old war stories. Naturally, the infamous Winchesters come up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things That Go Bump In The Night

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Near the beginning of Dean and Cas’ time in Purgatory, between seasons 7 and 8.
> 
> Author’s Note: I don’t own these characters yo.

Fire crackles soullessly in the center of their circle as the changeling mother pokes at it boredly with a stick.

"John Winchester," she says with a grimace of hate. "1997. The bastard trapped me in a circle of fire then made me watch as he threw my children on to roast."

There is a murmur of disgust and empathy around the circle.

"I knew a shapeshifter who was killed by John Winchester. That man made me look like a saint," a ghoul intones.

"John Winchester, he isn’t related to Sam and Dean Winchester by any chance, is he?" a rugaru asks.

"Was. I have it on good authority he’s in hell now though. He was their father," a vampire answers, staring into the flames.

"Serves him right," the changeling mother spits.

There is a low hum of agreement.

"Why Sam and Dean? Who are they?" a wendigo asks of the rugaru. The ruguaru raises an astonished eyebrow.

"What, were you too busy hibernating when that angel, Castiel, took us all up into him? Dean was that hunter he had a hard-on for. He and his brother Sam were the hunters he was so chummy with," the rugaru answers.

The wendigo nods her comprehension, but does not answer. Someone screams from far off and there is silence around the fire while they all listen with mild interest.

"Sam and Dean killed my whole nest," the vampire breathes with harsh remembrance, breaking the silence.

"They killed me," a banshee shrieks quietly, "They were just young children then. I underestimated them."

"There were twenty of us," the vampire says, turning to the banshee. "They took us out like it was nothing. Traps: machetes, dead man’s blood, and this gun…" he drifts off into silence, a dark look clouding his face as he stares back into the fire.

"They didn’t kill me, but they were responsible for my second death and the second deaths of all the other leviathans on Earth," a leviathan adds lowly.

"What I wouldn’t do to see them boiling in a stew of their own innards," the ghoul says dreamily.

"I’d rip their hearts out and eat them raw while they watched, the bastards," a werewolf whispers.

"If I saw them, you know what I would do?" the leviathan asks. "I would run in the other direction. As fast as I could." The leviathan looks around the circle at everyone’s faces, catching all their eyes individually. "Those boys are the worst thing that ever happened to all of our kinds. They are more than other humans. A monster of their own kind. They can’t be beat, and shouldn’t be faced. Not by the smartest of us, not by the strongest of us, not by all of us combined."

"Each of them has died a handful of times and come back, just as human as before - so they say," the vampire agrees. "I would run too. The bastards are unbeatable."

Silence reigns until it’s finally broken by the werewolf, who looks from face to face, nearly all trembling in the firelight, suddenly fearful of the dark around them.

"Well no disrespect to you two, you’re both majestic creatures in your own right, but I would say that submission is no way to deal with a threat like these Winchesters. If I met those murderous, thieving monsters-among-men, I would maul them to pieces or die trying. And I’m already dead which, as it turns out, isn’t so bad. I mean I met all y’all…"

"Aw what a big softie," a siren purrs from just to his left, petting his arm. The werewolf snarls and pulls his hand back on instinct before laughing with slight embarrassment.

"One of the Winchesters is here now." From behind and between the ghoul and the wendigo, a Greek goddess speaks. Some of the others look around them, shocked and afraid. "In purgatory," she amends.

"But how? Did someone turn them?" the changeling mother asks.

"That is doubtful, given what we have just heard of the two of them," the goddess replies slowly. "He looks human anyhow, but alas none of my sources have gotten close enough to really see him without being killed."

"Killed?!" the siren asks. "But how?"

A rustle is heard in the underbrush behind the werewolf, and a twig cracks loudly in the dark. There is a sharp intake of communal breath, and someone curses lowly in French. Everyone is silent for what seems like ages, but finally the vampire speaks.

"It’s happened before here," he speaks up, his voice dry as the fire he stares at. "It’s just damn unusual in these parts."

"What happens to them?" the banshee whispers hoarsely.

The vampire shrugs.

"Does nobody know?" the werewolf asks, his hand clutched tightly in the siren’s.

A dangerously gravelly voice cuts through the night, speaking from behind the werewolf. “You will in about half a second if anybody moves,” he promises, as a demonically earthy, hand-crafted knife slides around the werewolf’s neck. The banshee shrieks and covers her mouth. The siren pulls away from the werewolf and flings herself onto the vampire, whose only move is to stare up at the source of the voice with a hateful combination of terror and loathing in his eyes.

"Speak of the devil," he breathes.

"Something like that," the voice says drily, his face coming slightly further into the light of the fire as he tightens his grip on the werewolf. There stands Dean Winchester, humanity and all.

"What do you want?" the ghoul asks, his voice cracked and high with fright.

"Information," the human replies. "About an angel: about 5’ 11", trench coat, bat-shit crazy, you’ve all seen the inside of his gourd…"

"Why would we tell you?" the rugaru asks, feeling slightly brave behind the wendigo’s tall form.

A dark shape emerges from the pitch-dark woods behind him, and puts a knife to the rugaru’s throat. The rugaru whimpers and tries to catch a glimpse of the face above him.

"Because if you don’t, we’re gonna show you all what happens when you die in purgatory," Dean replies with a smug smile.

From above the rugaru, a darkly bearded face smiles at them all, revealing a glisten of bloody vampire teeth.

"You’re human," the goddess says quietly from across the circle, staring disbelievingly at Dean.

"Doesn’t mean I can’t skin you all alive if you asked me to, sweetheart," Dean replies. "Now tell me. Who here’s heard even a whisper of the angel?"

No one speaks. The knife digs into the neck of the werewolf, and a whimper like a kicked dog creeps between his lips. The fire crackles. The werewolf lets out a squeak and then a gurgle and a hiss as his windpipe is severed. Dean throws the werewolf’s carcass to the ground and moves over to the siren.

Halfway between Dean and Benny, the changeling mother makes a mad dash for the woods. Benny hurls his knife, and the changeling mother is dead before she hits the ground.

"Anybody?” Dean asks conversationally. “If nobody has anything Benny and I are gonna have to start some senseless killing, and you know, that’s the last thing I want to do."

Benny goes over to the changeling mother for his knife and carefully wipes it clean on the rugaru’s shirt before holding it once more at his throat. Beneath Dean’s fingers, the siren transforms into a spitting image of the angel he’s looking for. Dean’s shock almost causes him to let go of her before he catches himself and brings his blade back to her neck.

"See, this bitch knows who I’m talking about," Dean says proudly, turning her face roughly in his hand and staring at it with something more than ruthless perusal of detail. "What do you know?" he asks her softly.

"I know very little, Dean. I’m sorry," she replies, her voice gruff and deep. "He was alone. He passed through here maybe a week ago, he did not stay l-"

Dean’s reflexes save him from a jet of her aphrodisiac, and he twists her face away from his so quickly that he snaps her neck.

The rugaru bursts into tears, and the banshee covers her eyes. The leviathan doesn’t move for fear when Dean’s knife grazes his neck.

"Leviathan," Dean breathes threateningly behind him. "Your kind tried to enslave humanity."

"Yes," the leviathan admits.

"Came damn near close too," Dean adds.

"Yes," the leviathan agrees, eyes closed in anticipation.

Dean cuts off the greasy head and tosses it behind him, moving on to the banshee.

"Bobb- Benny, cut off the head of that sniveling thing," Dean orders.

"I’d be happy to, Dean," Benny drawls. The rugaru cries out just as it’s killed; it’s head ripped from it’s neck.

Benny licks the creature’s blood from where it splattered on his chin before moving his knife to the neck of the other vampire.

"Traitor," the vampire hisses. Benny lets the knife dig slightly further into the blood-sucker’s neck.

"I don’t know about you, son, but I never swore no alliance to all vampire kind. Especially not one ‘til after death do us part. Now do you have any useful information for my friend here that’ll get you a couple more breaths of dead air, or should I gut you here and now?"

The vampire looks up across the circle at Dean and sees the deadly seriousness in his eyes.

"The siren wasn’t lying. We saw him come through here maybe a week ago," he sighs.

"Which way," Dean asks forcefully. The vampire lifts a hand.

"Something like northeast. That way."

Dean glances up at Benny and nods. Benny slits the neck of the vampire at his hands.

“He gave you what you wanted!” the banshee screams at Dean, tears welling in her eyes as the human presses the cool flat of the blade to her cheek.

“Mm,” Dean agrees. “Ain’t death cruel.”

Her eyes wide, the banshee opens her mouth and screams high and shrill. Dean’s first instinct is to back off and cover his ears, but the next second he’s stabbed her in the back, severing her spinal column. The shriek continues for another second before it’s cut off with a dying breath.

It only takes that long though for the ghoul and the wendigo to turn on Benny, and the goddess to turn tail and flee for the woods. Dean doesn’t bother to try and catch her. He knows he’s already missed the shot. Instead he hops over the banshee’s fallen form, and pulls the ghoul off his friend just in time to save his eyes.

They grapple, but it’s not three seconds before Dean sticks him in the heart and tosses him to the ground. He turns on his heel and grabs one of the wendigo’s flailing arms, taking half a moment to appreciate Benny’s ability to keep from dying at its hands even this long. The thing appeared to have a knife stuck in her heart, but it wasn’t doing her any visible harm.

The vampire and the human shared a glance and took hold of her arms, dragging her in a moment to the fireside and throwing her in. The screams were terrible, but lasted only seconds before her highly flammable flesh burned to a crisp. The victors watched the fire burn for a moment even after the last traces of wendigo had burned away.

“So. Northeast then?” Benny asked with a small smile.

“Northeast,” Dean agreed humorlessly. He still wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea of traveling and working with a vampire, but desperate times; and he had to admit the man could hold his own in a fight.


End file.
